


Turned Aside

by SunflowerSupreme



Series: Witcher (A/B/O) [39]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Blood and Wine (The Witcher 3 DLC), Gen, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:55:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26960992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSupreme/pseuds/SunflowerSupreme
Summary: I remember a lot about Toussant. Weren’t you banished on pain of death?”Turned AsideTo be refused entry.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcher (A/B/O) [39]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1598041
Comments: 58
Kudos: 80





	1. Chapter 1

They didn’t stay in Nilfgaard long after Ciri’s coronation. As much as Geralt wanted to support her, it seemed best to let her strike out on her own. And, being the Lady of Time and Space, Ciri could contact any of them at will.

Her counsel went their separate ways. Triss, off to find more survivors of the Witch Hunts, Yennefer back to Vengerburg, and Geralt and Dandelion to Novigrad.

Their first night there, Dandelion had gone off his medication, only to change his mind and go back on it. That had happened twice more, as he battled with his own indecisiveness. Geralt, for his part, simply enjoyed having a place to stay where he didn’t have to fight for survival. He spent his days wandering Novigrad, occasionally taking contracts just for the hell of it, or helping Dandelion in the Chameleon.

Once word got around that a Witcher was hanging out in the bar, the number of fights dropped dramatically.

But sometimes Geralt had to get out, and would take Roach on long rides into the countryside.

On one particular day, it was nearly dark before he returned.

“You have guests,” Dandelion said as he entered. The bard looked decidedly uncomfortable.

Geralt had only been away from the Chameleon for a few hours, but he wished he could be surprised that something had happened. “Who is it? An ex girlfriend of yours?”

The bard seemed hesitant to answer, drumming his fingers on the counter. “Knights Errant from Toussaint,” he admitted finally.

“Toussaint?” Geralt repeated in surprise.

“Milton de Peyrac-Peyran and Palmerin de Launfal,” said the poet simply. “You remember them, don’t you-”

“I remember a lot about Toussant,” said Geralt, folding his arms over his chest. “Weren’t you banished on pain of death?”

“Ah, a misunderstanding-”

“Because you cheated on the Duchess?”

“Geralt, she’s a hypocrite! When I first met her she was still married, and that didn’t stop her from pursuing a relationship with me, so why shouldn’t I pursue other relationships?”

The Witcher shook his head. He’d been bonded to Dandelion during the bard’s second stay in Toussant, a fact that the Duchess (an Alpha) had been surprisingly unconcerned about. She - and Toussant - were surprisingly open minded about Omegas for a country that was so seeped in tradition. But she had still expected some level of monogamy, which - as always - Dandelion had been incapable of.

As it were, he’s nearly been executed before Geralt had dragged him out of the country. The unofficial reason for his life having been spared was that the Duchess had a change of heart, but officially it was because he was Geralt’s “property.”

Bearing all that in mind, Geralt wasn’t pleased about the thought of two knights visiting the Chameleon, even if it was men he had once considered friends.

“I’ll take you to them,” said the bard, pushing himself to his feet. He could walk without his cane, more or less, although he’d taken a liking to it and often used it for the dramatic flair.

But he seemed too preoccupied to care about dramatics, leaving the cane behind as he led Geralt to the second floor of the cabaret.

“Stay out of this,” he said, giving Dandelion a slight push away from the door. “If you’d like to stay attached to your head.”

The bard made an offended noise, but he didn’t argue, although Geralt suspected he was just going to hang around in the hall and eavesdrop.

“Milton de Peyrac-Peyran and Palmerin de Launfal,” he said as he entered. “Good to see you both. Been years.”

“Be assured,” said Palmerin. “We share your joy.”

Geralt nodded. “So fess up, what brings you such a long way?”

Milton stood and puffed out his chest. “We are to deliver Her Grace The Duchess’ message in full, with all due ceremony. For tradition-”

“Is sacred in Toussant,” Geralt finished. “All right, fine.”

Palmerin unfurled a long scroll and Geralt resisted the urge to roll his eyes as the man began to read, “Most honorable Geralt, Slayer of Monsters And All Evils Nefarious which Prey on the Defenseless of the World! Whereas never have you been known to deny help to the innocent nor leave widows and orphans to fates undeserved, answer you now our present summons! Free us from the Beast which floods our streets with blood and sows panic in the hearts of rich and poor alike! Come to our aid Witcher - thus humbly beseeches you the Star-Crossed City’s most gracious protectoress, Her Illustrious Highness, Duchess Anna Henrietta.”

“Anna Henrietta really say all that?” Geralt asked with a snort. “Word for word?”

“Well,” Milton said, “in point of fact she said, ‘ _bring me the Witcher and dare not spare your horses. Only make certain this time he comes alone_.’”

From behind the door he heard an offended noise from Dandelion.

Apparently not having heard the bard, Milton concluded, “The Ducal chamberlain added the rest. You know how it is.“

“Yeah, I remember,” Geralt promised.

“I might add, be it unofficially, that a hefty reward awaits,” promised Palmerin, rolling the scroll up. “Yet the specifics you will have to verify with her Illustrious Highness.”

“Might be the most fervent request that I take a contract ever,” said Geralt. “And the most polite.”

_“Hardly polite to exclude company,”_ he heard Dandelion mutter.

Geralt kicked the door. “And now that we’ve got all that behind us, I wanna hear more about the Beast. Some kind of monster? Just guessing.”

“Most assuredly,” said Palmerin. “Though no one has caught a good look at it as yet. Only sure witnesses, bodies massacred in a brutal, horrid manner.”


	2. Chapter 2

Dandelion - although Geralt had left him behind in Novigrad - would have been proud of his entrance into Toussant, leaping into an area to prevent a Shaelmar from killing a knight, only to somehow end up being awarded honors by the Duchess before she spirited him away to discuss the Beast.

The Duchess folded her hands as they walked, asking “Tell me, did you come alone or did Viscount Julian join you?”

Geralt bit back a snort. “Wish to see Dandelion, Your Grace?”

“Yes- I mean no!” She groaned. “I mean, yes, but only to tell him we regret, yes, deeply regret rescinding the death sentence that we so justly handed down upon him.” The Duchess shook her head with a snort. “If we could turn back time we could make certain he sat in a tower till he rotted- no, we would ensure he was broken on the wheel, then drawn, hanged and quartered!”

Judging by the scent of arousal coming from her, barely noticeable under her perfumes, ‘ _drawn, hanged, and quartered_ ’ had a different, sexual meaning in Toussant. Either that, or the Duchess was a liar.

Geralt only shook his head, deciding not to press the issue.

The Duchess changed the subject quickly as she spotted an armored man ahead of them. “Ah! The very man we would entrust with these tasks- Damien de la Tour, captain of my personal guard.”

Damien bowed. “Your Grace. Witcher.”

Geralt didn’t waste any time. “I examined the body of the last victim. Might’ve found something. Need to analyze it.”

“Hmm. Yes, we understand. But first we must discuss your payment.” The Duchess clasped her hands and studied Geralt. “Are the legends true?” asked Annarietta. “Do Witchers usually demand, _‘that which you find at home, yet did not expect?_ ’”

“The Law of Surprise?” Geralt asked. “Traditionally, yes.”

“Hmmm. We shall be candid. The surprises we find on a daily basis would be of no value to one such as you.” She shook her head. “What awaits at the palace are edicts to sign and portraits of suitors from far off lands. I fear you would find little use for either.”

“I can’t argue with that.”

“Thus we’ve decided you shall receive the deed to a vineyard, Corvo Bianco, and a sum of coin. You shall doubtless consider this adequate.” She motioned a servant forward and he approached, bowing and extending a pillow, on which was perched a sheet of parchment and a key.

“Title to the vineyard shall be given to you at once,” continued the Duchess. “Surely you’ll need lodgings while you hunt. The coin, however, will be yours only once you have slain the Beast.”

“Lovely, generous gesture, Your Grace,” Geralt said, taking the key and the paper. “But isn’t Corvo Bianco the duchy’s temporary morgue?”

“Is it now?” she asked sharply. “The Chancellory’s bungled things again, we fear! Not to be left unsupervised for one instant!” The Duchess looked around, as though hoping the person responsible would appear out of no where and fall at her feet. Given daily life in Toussant, Geralt was mildly surprised that it didn’t happen.

“Yet in its mood a morgue should present minimal problems to a Witcher. What’s more nothing enhances a wine’s reputation more than a grim legend.”

He thanked her for the gifts, then steered the conversation back to the Beast’s victims, the dead knights. After hearing everything that Damien had to offer on the subject, they tried to guess at the next victim.

“Let’s think,” murmured the Duchess, pacing. “At the moment, all the knights are either at the Tourney grounds or in the Palace Gardens. Our annual Hare Hunt shall begin there shortly. Have you heard of the custom?”

“Milton mentioned something,” Geralt confessed. “Seemed excited to prance around in a bunny costume. Not sure why.” He froze. “Hang on… the famed cowardice of rabbits- Milton also knew the other victims, told me so himself.”

“Oh dear,” said the Duchess.

“Your Grace, we need to find Milton, _immediately_.”

“Rather problematic,” she said hesitantly. “You see, the garden’s entertainments are due to start, and he’d disgusted as the Hare, hiding somewhere, waiting for some tipsy couriers to find him. The Hare’s location is a closely guarded secret.”

“We must call off the game, at once!” urged Damien.

“First and foremost we must remain calm,” said the Duchess. “Damien, order the gardens searched, immediately, but discretely. By no means can we disrupt the festivities. Panic will only incite the Beast to strike sooner.” Then she turned to Geralt. “And you Witcher, follow me. My knights, my gardens. I shall take the fore. A murder is out of the question! I shall not allow it!”

She turned away from Geralt and shouted, “Ready our horses!” Then she took two steps and stumbled on the hem of her dress. Not to be deterred, she tore the skirts from her outfit and continued on in only her stockings and bloomers, much to the horror of her handmaidens.

Geralt grinned and whistled for Roach.

She shoved away the man who was holding her horse and he stuttered “your Highness I- I-”

Shoving her skirts at him she said, “Mind it doesn’t get wrinkled.” Then she swung onto the saddle and raced away, Geralt and Roach hot on her heels.


	3. Chapter 3

Unfortunately, they weren’t in time to save Milton.

Fortunately, Geralt was able to chase the killer.

Unfortunately, it ran into an abandoned warehouse. “Why do monsters always gotta pick the creepy warehouses?” he muttered, drawing his sword and following it inside.

In the gloom he could see a man standing on a ledge above him. “This belong to you?” Geralt asked, holding up the severed hand he’d found earlier.

“It did,” said the man. “But you may keep it. I’ve a new one.” He paused, considering the Witcher, then said, “I do not know you, I’ve done you no harm. Yet first you butchered a bruxa who was dear to me. Now you pursue me. Why?”

“You’ve killed four innocent people. At least.”

“And you? How many innocents have you cut down?”

“I don’t kill innocents,” he retorted. “Murderers though? You bet.”

“I’ll soon be done. I’ve but one left.” He paused, then softly added, “And you, should you not stand down.”

“And once you’re done? Intend to leave? Go kill somewhere else?”

“No,” said the man, his hands slowly forming into claws. “I intend to live. Happily ever after.”

Then he lunged for Geralt.

The Beast was unlike anything Geralt had ever fought, clearly a vampire more powerful than the one he’d killed in Novigrad. And unlike the man in Novigrad, he didn’t seem to be underestimating Geralt (and the Witcher hadn’t downed any Black Blood before the fight).

He lost track of it as it turned invisible, but he could still hear it, moving around above him. He could smell herbs, strong and overwhelming enough to muddle his senses.

Then, before he could do anything, it was behind him.

But he didn’t die.

Geralt turned just in time to see it stab another man, its face contorting with confusion. “You were to stay where you were!” cried the Beast. “Regenerate!”

“I know you’re in trouble,” said the newcomer, apparently unconcerned about the Beast’s claws which were protruding from his back. “I can help.”

“I’ll help myself!”

The Beast tried to pull away, but the newcomer held him close, even though it meant forcing the claws deeper into his chest. “No! He’s my friend!”

With a ferocious roar and a puff of red smoke, the Beast was gone. His savior straightened and brushed himself off. “Yes, Geralt,” said Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, turning to face the Witcher for the first time. “It’s me.” He was slightly different than when Geralt had last seen him, his hair grey and his appearance slightly dishelved, but there was no missing the brilliant, sharp toothed smile nor the stench of herbs that permeated the air around him.

“Regis?” the Witcher asked, dumbfounded. “I- you all right?” There was still a gaping hole in his chest, not to mention the fact that the last time Geralt had seen him he had been a melted pile of black goo. Although, perhaps that was unfair to point out, given that Geralt had also died and come back from the dead once.

“All is well, all’s in order,” promised Regis as his chest knitted itself back together. “Wounds such as these heal on Vampires in moments. But we’ve not seen each other in ages. In human terms that is.”

“How’s this even possible? Last I saw you-”

“I was a bubbling, shapeless smear,” finished Regis gleefully, grabbing Geralt and pulling him into a hug, “having been rather specularly melted into the column of a certain castle.”

“In somewhat better shape now, as you can see,” he said, stepping back and letting Geralt gawk at him. “Hardly peak form, mind you, but were I a human people would think I was a demigod I daresay.”

“I’m sorry. What happened- it was my fault. Never got a chance to apologize.”

Regis only shook his head, offering a pointy-toothed smile. “No need, Geralt. Bygones. I did not have to join you on that expedition. No one twisted my arm.”

“Miraculaous regeneration,” Geralt remarked. “How’d you manage it?”

“I had help. From the one you hunt.”

“Him? How? And what’ve you been doing all these years?”

“Not the time nor the place for such stories. I suspect we’ll get a chance to speak at ease and at length later. Now however, we must deal with reason that brought us both here.”

“So you being here? It’s no coincidence?”

“Your powers of deduction seemed to have waned not one bit. I’m happy.” He said it with a straight face, though it could have been a compliment, or a joke at Geralt’s expense, given that, when they met, the Witcher had failed to realize Regis was a vampire until the man had confessed. “I came here for Detlaff. I fear he’s become entangled, landed himself in some serious trouble.”

“So that’s his name? Your… friend?”

“You might call it that. Though Detlaff is… how would you humans put it… more bestial than I.” He smiled brightly. “But not to worry, I’m working on him.”

Geralt crossed his arms. “Haven’t exactly done a great job with that. He’s killed one knight since I got here, least three others before I arrived.”

“For good reason, I’m sure,” promised the vampire. “Understand Detlaff is not some decadent shit who kills for sport or to assuage a dryness of throat nor dullness of mood.”

“Oh?”

“Despite appearances to the contrary, you two are quite alike. You’ve both noble hearts and yet you are both prone to perform ignoble deeds- when circumstances force you to, of course.” Regis strode to the window. “Remember the year 964?”

Aghast, Geralt said, “That was three centuries ago!” He might be old, but he wasn’t _that_ old, despite what Dandelion occasionally claimed.

“Blind fear gripped Riva, Lyria, and Spalla. Women and children were dying, their mutilated corpses littered the fields.”

“Brute of Lyria,” said Geralt. “I’ve read about it. Killed about 200, then fell to some common poacher armed with a dagger supposedly blessed by some prophet.” Dandelion had written a ballad about it, once, although in his rendition, the “blessings” had been of a much different nature. _And he wonders why the Church never liked him_.

“It fell to Detlaff,” said Regis. “Who then found a poacher asleep in the brush and dropped the fiend’s corpse at his feet.”

“Vampires rarely help humans. Must’ve had his own agenda.”

“You err. He slew it for one reason alone. The monster killed a lad who, once in the street, had offered Detlaff an apple, expecting nothing in return.”

“Terribly noble of him,” replied Geralt. _Doesn’t explain the murdered knights_.

“You do not have a monopoly on altruism, my friend.” Regis tilted his head, lost in thought. “Detlaff doesn’t understand men, their world, it’s rules, it’s conventions. He’s naive, in a sense. He knows not what it means to lie, to deceive.”

“Suggesting he’s maladjusted… and venting his rage?” asked Geralt.

“I’m suggesting that maladjustment can at times breed conflict. But is it the case this time? I cannot say… But I intend to find out.”

Before they could converse further, Geralt tilted his head at the distant sound of footsteps. “Hear that? The posse. Knights must’ve tracked me here.”

Regis stepped back hesitantly. “I’d prefer they not find me here,” he confessed. I’ve makeshift quarters at Mere-Lachaiselongue Cemetery. We’ll meet there.” With that, he vanished into a puff of smoke.

* * *

Before meeting Regis, Geralt stopped by his new vineyard.

A strangely dressed man met him at the door and inclined his head. “Welcome home sir. I am Barnabas Basil Foulty. By order of the Duchess, I shall serve you as majordomo of Corvo Bianco.”

Geralt nodded, and Barnabas Basil Foulty took that as encouragement to continue on, “I previously served with distinction at Kniebihly family manor and in Nazair with Admiral Rompally, who, as you are certain to know, is an extraordinarily demanding Gentleman-”

Not for the first time, Geralt wished that he had Dandelion to help him keep up with all the names. “Whoa Barnabas Basil,” the Witcher said. “One thing you oughta know- I’m not your typical landed gentleman. Truth to be told, this is the first real property I’ve ever owned.” He didn’t the Chameleon, even if it was officially in Geralt’s name, as far as he was concerned, it belonged solely to Dandelion.

Barnabas Basil seemed excited by that. “Oh! In that case, you must leave it all to me! I shall organize, see to everything, and whip the house into order. I daresay this vineyard shall soon be the most prosperous place around!”

“Great, I can already see I’m in good hands.”

Barnabas Basil insisted on taking Geralt on a tour of the property, although, at the Witcher’s insistence that he had important things to do, he promised it would be quick and “Only the most important parts, Master Geralt.”

No sooner had Barnabas Basil finished showing Geralt around the property than a messenger hurried up, dressed in the Duchess’ colors. He bowed and presented Geralt with a letter.

Geralt lifted the paper with a raised eyebrow. _“Your Gift of Surprise has arrived?”_ he read aloud (it seemed that the Ducal Chamberlain hadn’t gotten his hands on the letter, it was too short and to the point). “What does that mean?”


	4. Chapter 4

Geralt made his way to the palace in Beauclair, as per the duchess’ letter. There he was met by a rather frazzled looking footman. “What happened?” the Witcher asked.

“Come with me, sir,” was all he said, giving a bow and hurrying away. With no other choice, Geralt followed them. He got an explanation soon enough, without the man even having to speak. As they hurried through the palace, he could soon hear a distant commotion, which seemed to be in the direction they were heading.

“This is an outrage!” Damien was shouting. “The law of the duchy must be upheld! A man cannot escape his death sentence twice!”

“You heard the Duchess,” said a very familiar voice. “The Law of Surprise is an ancient tradition, and in Toussant, Tradition is Sacred.”

“Dandelion,” the Witcher groaned. He was going to kill the bard.

They rounded the corner to see the scene in front of them. Damien, red faced and spitting, the Duchess, staring out a window dramatically, and Dandelion, sitting on the ground in handcuffs but still looking rather pleased with himself.

“Geralt!” cried the bard.

“Witcher,” said Anna Henrietta, turning from the window to point at Dandelion. “Here is your Law of Surprise: _that which we find at home, yet did not expect_. Were it up to us, we would have him executed for his crimes, but as we know, Tradition is Sacred in Toussant.”

She was lying.

Geralt sighed, regretting that Dandelion was still unbonded. Hopefully the poet was bright enough not to let Annarietta mark him. He’d certainly loved her once, but, like most of Dandelion’s relationships, it hadn’t been enough to hold his attention.

“Thank you, my lady,” he said tersely, bowing his head. “I- uh, I’ll keep him out of trouble.”

Damien and the Duchess both looked as though they doubted that - and yes, Geralt was lying, because no one could keep Dandelion out of trouble for long - but they let him pull Dandelion to his feet, remove the cuffs, and practically drag him from the room.

“Geralt-” Dandelion began.

“Not a word,” said the Witcher softly. He was tempted to send Dandelion back to Corvo Bianco, Barnabas-Basil would be more than happy to keep an eye on him, but then again, it might be more fun to let him tag along. “Come along, Dandelion, can you walk?”

“Well, enough,” said the bard brightly. “Where are we off to, Geralt?”

“Mere Lachaiselongue Cemetery,” replied the Witcher gruffly.

“A cemetery?” Dandelion squeaked. “Why are we going to a cemetery?”

“Looking for a vampire of course,” Geralt said.

Dandelion snickered. “Alright, I see how it is. You don’t want to tell me, but that’s fine, I’ll have my answers soon enough.”

Geralt nearly froze. Dandelion didn’t believe him. The kind thing to do would be to explain that he was serious, he was looking for a vampire, one Dandelion knew quite well at that, but….

Well, it would be far more fun to lead him on for a while, wouldn’t it? And he deserved it for being such a pest.

“You will,” he promised.

Roach was waiting outside, along with Dandelion’s horse, and they both mounted up and headed out of the city.

* * *

“What are we doing, again?” Dandelion asked, stepping nervously around a tombstone. “Why are we here, anyway? You’ve been rather short on the details, which you know I can’t stand.”

They hadn’t spoken much on the way to the cemetery, except for Geralt giving Dandelion the briefest explanations for The Beast, summarizing what he’d done so far (leaving out Regis, of course). But he hadn’t explained why they needed to go to Mere Lachaiselongue, ignoring Dandelion’s attempts to wheedle it out of him. Eventually the poet had given up on answers and instead began strumming his lute as they rode.

When they’d arrived in the cemetery he’d swung it over his back and trotted after Geralt, leaving his cane swinging from the saddle. Then he thought better for it and went back for it.

While his companion was occupied, Geralt poked around for the most likely place Regis would be hiding - _the crypt_ , he decided, hurrying toward it.

“Damn it,” Geralt grumbled, stepping back from the crypt. “Locked.”

“Oh good,” said Dandelion. “Does that mean we can leave?”

“Gotta find another way in,” Geralt replied, casting a quick glance around. Regis wouldn’t have left him with no way in, the vampire probably just thought it would be funny to make him try harder.

“There.” He pushed past Dandelion, finding a large open hole in the ground where it appeared the roof of tunnels beneath them had given in.

Geralt peered into the open pit. It wasn’t a long drop, nothing to a Witcher, and if Dandelion was careful, it wouldn’t be anything to him either. He shoved the pouch containing Detlaff’s hand at Dandelion. “Hold this.”

Geralt jumped down then looked back up at Dandelion. “I’ll catch you,” he promised.

“I don’t know about…”

“Dandelion.”

“Oh very well.” Dandelion tossed down the bag and his cane first, then sat on the edge of the pit and dangled his feet. He was close enough that Geralt could almost reach out and touch him.

“We don’t have all day, Dandelion.”

“Coming.” He fell more than jumped, but it worked either way, Geralt caught him easily enough and sat him on the ground.

Dandelion dusted himself off and collected his things as Geralt found a bit of discarded wood and fashioned it into a touch.

“Come on,” Geralt said, handing Dandelion the torch. “Follow me.”

Dandelion moaned but followed him into the crypt anyway. “I don’t like this,” he complained. “My feet don’t like it much either.”

“Should have stayed in Novigrad.”

“And let you have all the fun? I don’t think so.”

“Admit it, Dandelion, you just wanted to see Annarietta again.”

The bard snickered, but didn’t answer.

Geralt wove through the tunnel - thankfully, there only seemed to be one long path, not a maze of options - and Dandelion trotted after him. “Do you think there are necrophages in here?” the poet asked worriedly, clutching the bag tightly and looking around nervously.

“Doubt it,” Geralt said. “They feed on fresh corpses, all of these are long dead.” _Necrophages don’t cohabitate with high vampires, anyway_.

The ground beneath them was covered with debris and stones that clattered under their feet. Occasionally they passed a pile of bones.

“Is that blood?” Dandelion asked worriedly.

“No,” said Geralt. “It’s a lichen.”

“You’re certain?”

“I can smell it.” He shrugged. “Everything in here has been dead long enough that there’s no blood left in it. Otherwise there would be necrophages.”

“Oh,” said Dandelion dryly. “I feel _so_ much better.”

Geralt kept the pace slower than he would have liked, but he didn’t want Dandelion to struggle or to push his feet too far. He’d been doing well, but Geralt didn’t know what riding halfway across the continent would have done to him, so it wasn’t worth pushing it. And besides, Regis was immortal, he wasn’t going anywhere.

“What are we looking for?” Dandelion asked, holding the torch aloft and looking around.

“A vampire,” said Geralt, again.

“I beg your pardon!” Dandelion squeaked. “I thought you were joking before, but- a vampire? Have you gone mad? Had a bit too much Toussant Wine?”

A light flickered above them and Regis’ outline came into view, situated on the edge of a balcony. Dandelion squinted, unable to make out exactly what he was looking at. “That could be a vampire,” he said worriedly. “Or any other number of terrifying things that would like very much to kill me.” 

“Agreed to meet a vampire at a Cemetery,” called Geralt. “How much more cliche can you get?”

Regis laughed, stepping into the light. “Nothing readily comes to mind. Hello Dandelion, it’s been a while.”

“Regis?!” Dandelion dropped the torch and set the moss at their feet on fire.


	5. Chapter 5

Once he’d managed to extinguish the fire, with no help from Regis who had only laughed at them (nor, for that matter, Dandelion, who had simply run off and climbed up on one of the caskets), Geralt strode up to meet Regis on the balcony, Dandelion stumbling behind him at a slower pace, still grumbling.

“Could’ve left the door unlatched,” Geralt said.

“What of my privacy?” replied Regis. “I value it rather deeply. Unmolested, especially by unwanted guests - that is my preferred state. Besides I knew you’d find a way to get in.”

“True enough. Need to find your friend, I’m hoping you’ll agree to help.”

“I shall do whatever’s in my power,” promised the vampire. “Yet what you want or even need must matter little. What matters is what Delaff wants. If he does not wish to be found you will not find him. Ever. End of story.”

“Pardon me,” said Dandelion, having finally reached the top of the steps. “But you’re both acting as if Regis isn’t meant to be dead, and I still don’t understand how he’s not and I’d like an explanation _now_.” As an afterthought he added, “Please.”

“Dandelion, I thought you’d be used seeing the dead by now,” joked Geralt.

“Oh, fuck you.”

“It’s a very long story, I’m afraid, but the man Geralt is hunting helped me to regenerate,” explained Regis. He pursed his lips and crouched, studying Dandelion’s legs intently. “Whatever has happened to your feet?”

“That’s also a very long story,” said Dandelion, clearly upset that he hadn’t gotten more from Regis.

“His feet were crushed,” Geralt explained. If it were anyone else, he wouldn’t have invaded Dandelion’s privacy, but he knew the poet trusted and adored Regis. “By religious zealots.”

“Hmm. They’re an annoying lot, aren’t they?” asked the vampire. “You have a slight limp. Is there any residual pain?”

“Only when he’s stupid and rides halfway across the continent on his own.”

“I wasn’t on my own!” Dandelion protested.

“Oh yeah?” Geralt snorted. “Who was with you? Your horse?”

“Zoltan!”

“What?” Geralt turned sharply. “Where is he?”

“Oh, well I left him in a bar and said I had to take a piss. That’s been a few hours, now. Admittedly it slipped my mind.”

“Dandelion!” The dwarf was probably frantic and chasing any mention of him across the city. But finding him would have to wait.

Regis, who had watched their exchange with delight, gave the poet a hug. “I’ll take a look later, when we have proper lighting, I make no promises, but I may be able to do something for you.”

Dandelion’s face lit up, but they didn’t have time to dwell on that. Geralt interrupted, saying, “Back to Detlaff, are you certain you can’t find him?”

“Hmm. Vampires can evade detection by the senses, and no divination magic works on us. Even the most powerful mega scope would be useless.”

Geralt motioned to the bag Dandelion was still carrying. “And this?” he asked. “Could this help?”

Dandelion opened it, then yelped. “Geralt! That’s disgusting!”

Regis took the bag before it met the same fate as the torch and lifted Detlaff’s hand with reverence. 

“Wherever did you get that?”

“I’d also like to know!” whined Dandelion. “But mostly I’m wondering why I had to carry it.”

Geralt sat on one of the chairs, making himself at home. “Off one of the Beast’s victims,” he explained. “Body was chopped into pieces. Three of them were hands. Hand with the ring seemed the odd one out. A bruxa had taken an interest in it.”

Regis lifted the hand and sniffed it. A strange expression settled over his face, and a tremor ran through his body. Uneasy, Geralt gave Dandelion a gentle push behind him.

But just as quickly as it had started, the tension vanished from Regis’ body. “It is Detlaff’s hand, without a doubt,” he said. It will do splendidly.”

“I can’t help but wonder why that’s necessary,” said Dandelion, still looking slightly green. “You’re both higher vampires, can’t you just ask him nicely? Or summon him by osmosis or something?”

Geralt decided it was best not to point out that wasn’t how osmosis worked at all. Regis seemed to be of the same mind. “If I’m to be entirely candid, there is indeed one. But believe me, we will be better off never availing ourselves of it. It is a last resort, absolutely.”

“Last resort?” Geralt asked. “The hell- why?”

Regis seemed uncomfortable. “There is a being who can summon Detlaff. Possesses the authority, even the power to force him to appear in a given place. But the very act of contacting this being, well, it’s akin to walking a slack line over a chasm filled with molten lava. With two shattered feet.”

Dandelion shivered.

“An exercise as perilous to me as it would be to you. A risk I’m unwilling to take. I beg you, lets do it my way. It’ll be both quicker and easier.”

“What’s your way?” asked Geralt.

“You’ve heard of Covinarius’ theory of tissue memory retention?”

“No,” said Geralt.

At the same time, Dandelion said, “Of course.”

The Witcher raised an eyebrow. “You?”

“The theory states that you can use any tissue to reconstruct what a whole body has experienced.” Dandelion beamed. “But I don’t believe he was able to prove his theory…” The more Dandelion rambled, the more Geralt decided he was vaguely familiar with the theory.

“He did prove it,” Regis explained. “Just never managed to publish his findings. He and I corresponded you see, after we became friends. Thus I know he completed his research and performed the final tests. He created a concoction that he called Resonance, which may give us the location of Detlaff’s hideout.”

“It wouldn’t be easy, would it?” asked Dandelion with a frown.

“You guess correctly. In addition to Detlaff’s tissue, we shall need a powerful occipital lobe stimulant - essentially a poison to make one susceptible to visions.”

Geralt frowned. “Got a few choices, unfortunately, all are pretty rare. There’s mamune glands, but the closest I know of are in Vizima. A spotted Wight’s saliva would also serve, but they were culled to extinction over a century ago. Could go with a kobold’s eye, but the creatures are sentient. Rather not gauge one’s eye out…”

“You’re wrong,” said Dandelion bluntly.

“About what?”

“There’s a spotted wight not far from here,” he replied. “I heard Captain de la Tour mention it to the Duchess.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

Regis looked between the two of them. “There is an easy way to confirm it,” he said. “Permit me to summon some help.” 


	6. Chapter 6

Regis help was a raven, which he sent off with instructions to search for the Spotted Wight Dandelion had mentioned. Then, Regis invited them both back into the crypt to sample his latest attempt at making Mandrake hooch.

“Sadly this is but a weak infusion, rather than a proper distillate,” fretted the vampire. They made themselves comfortable on the tombstones. Geralt and Regis both sitting on top of stones while Dandelion opted to sprawl on the ground and lean against Geralt’s leg.

“Even better,” Geralt said. “I remember your mandrake hooch. Made people say things they’d been better off keeping to themselves.”

He elbowed Dandelion who yelped, “What?!”

Regis watched them with amusement. “Now what could Geralt of Riva prefer to keep to himself?”

“Everyone’s got some secrets.”

“I agree wholeheartedly.” Regis pulled the cork from the bottle and passed it to Geralt. “I also believe it wise at times to share one’s secrets, unburden oneself to those one can trust.”

Geralt sipped the bitter drink. “This your sophisticated way of asking if I trust you?”

“I prefer almost always to ask indirectly,” replied Regis. “It seems a test of intelligence, one you just passed.”

“Hmm. Good thing you weren’t testing Dandelion, can’t keep his mouth shut.”

“Hey!” Dandelion reached for the bottle, hesitated, then shrugged. “A few sips won’t hurt,” he said, apparently to himself.

Geralt decided to keep a sharp watch on him, but it wasn’t his place to control the bard’s drinking, so he allowed him to take the bottle.

“Maybe you should go first,” Geralt suggested, tilting the bottle toward the vampire. “Reveal one of your secrets. After all, you vampires lead very interesting lives.” As soon as Dandelion had taken a sip, he swiped the bottle back.

“I could,” said Regis thoughtfully. “Although I’m rather interested in your stories. Both of you.”

“You both have regeneration in common,” said Dandelion. “You should start there, as I’m starting to think it’s a less unique process than I’d thought.”

“A difficult and laborious process, but one that’s possible - as my presence proves.” He tilted his head. “But I’ve heard you too have had quiet the adventure - they say you lost your memory.”

“He did,” Dandelion confirmed. “A fact which I, as the least forgettable man on the continent, take very personally.” Geralt kicked him.

“For a bit. Triss - and Dandelion - helped me to get it back. Pretty damn lucky I only had amnesia.”

“Pretty lucky you had _me_ ,” grumbled Dandelion, stealing the bottle back from Geralt. “Regis, take it from me, sorceresses are not worth the time of day. Better yet, take from Geralt. They tied him to a bed.”

“Dandelion!” He snatched the bottle away. “This stuff still doesn’t agree with you, poetaster.”

“You humans are rather buggered in those terms,” mused Regis, as though he’d missed their fight. “To strip you of life is, well, just plain easy. I’ve always pitied you in that regard. We higher vampires are much harder nuts to crack.”

“Got a new life, a new body,” Geralt said. “That give you a new start? A blank slate?”

“Starting all anew is a very broad concept. What exactly do you mean?”

Geralt took a moment to think before he spoke, not wanting to be too obvious. “Your blood addiction, say,” he said slowly. Addiction was a concept he’d found himself looking into more since Dandelion’s struggles with alcohol. As a recovering addict - granted, to a different substance entirely - Regis seemed to be a good place to start. “Wondering if you’re body’s still the same, if it still remembers. Maybe if you drank now, you wouldn’t get hooked.” Since Dandelion was looking at Regis, not Geralt, the Witcher nodded to his companion and mouthed, _Alcohol. Got it bad_.

Regis nodded seriously. “All addictions are a form of slavery,” he confessed. “Overcoming them, while never easy, is more than worth it.”

Then, to answer the second part of Geralt’s question, he said, “Re-addiction’s not a risk I’m willing to take just to test a hypothesis about corporeal regeneration and whether propensities carry over.”

To an outsider it might seem like a terse, fairly worthless answer, but Geralt had gotten what he wanted: Regis to know about Dandelion’s addiction. If he knew the surgeon half as well as he thought, he’d know what to say to the bard, even if he didn’t do it immediately. “Fair enough. Curiosity, that’s all. Sorry.”

“Not to worry Geralt,” said Regis, although it was Dandelion he was studying. He pulled his eyes away from the bard to say, “Curiosity’s a natural reaction under the circumstances. Apart from which, I’ve always valued that trait in you.”

“Well, I’m curious as well,” pipped up Dandelion, completely unaware of the second conversation that had happened over his head. “What did you do after you were… reborn?”

“As you can surmise, at first I was thoroughly absorbed with recovery,” explained Regis. “As it is, I’m still not recovered completely. Once I could at last stand unassisted, I set off for Brugge, for my one time home in Dillingen.”

“Brugge?” asked Dandelion. “Why, that’s where we met you!”

“Rebirth make you sentimental?” offered Geralt.

“Perhaps a dash,” admitted the vampire. “But what of you? Where have you been? Did you ever find your Cirilla?”

“Well, he _did_ ,” said Dandelion flatly, taking a sip of the hooch. “And then he fucking died so we had to find her. _Again_. And now she’s the Empress of Nilfgaard, so if she goes missing, it’s someone else’s problem.”

 _Liar,_ Geralt thought with a shake of his head. _As though you wouldn’t go running to her rescue again. She’s had you wrapped around your finger since long before she started calling you Uncle, and it’s only gotten worse since then._

“No one made you help,” Geralt reminded him. “As I recall I tried to talk you out of it.”

“Fuck off.”

Geralt snatched the bottle from him. “That’s enough,” he said. Dandelion pouted. “Alright,” he said to Regis. “One last question.”

“One question to ask one as fascinating as you, Geralt? Cruel parsimony, I’d say. But I shall do my best to make it count.” He tilted his head and studied him for a moment. “If you were to die and be reborn, as I was, in a new body: would you choose to be a Witcher?”

For a long moment, Geralt was silent. Dandelion looked up at him and blinked curiously. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “I’d be a Witcher. Doubt I’d know how to be anything else.” Dandelion patted his leg.

“Ever tried?” asked Regis.

“See you’re determined to get an answer,” said Geralt, taking one last swig of the hooch, finishing off the bottle. “To find out if I like being a Witcher. Just refuse to ask directly, as always.”

“I can answer that,” said Dandelion quietly.

“Oh?” Geralt asked.

“He likes the solitary life, likes traveling on his Path. The tension before a fight. Likes the adrenaline, the rush from battling a beast.” Geralt blinked, startled by how easily Dandelion had dissected his emotions. Although, perhaps he shouldn’t be so surprised. “He’s even gotten used to being treated like a freak, so much so that he thinks it’s perfectly acceptable. It’s not, of course, but you’d never convince him of that. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“Yeah,” Geralt said slowly. “Not something I think about much, but I like being a Witcher.”

“Thank you for being honest,” said Regis. “Honesty’s an attribute of the very brave - and thus a privilege of the very few.”

“Still no sign of your winged friend,” Geralt said, glancing at the sky. “Sure it understood what you wanted?”

“Dead certain,” joked Regis with a straight face. “Let’s wait a bit longer, it’ll return soon, don’t doubt that for a moment. And while we do, Dandelion, your feet, if you please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in the game Regis drinks with Geralt… but he doesn’t drink at all in the books, so i didn’t include that.


End file.
